For the first four years I lived in Buenos Aires, I was more or less flat broke. While the peso was tagged to the US dollar, Buenos Aires was an almost impossibly expensive place to live. It was a struggle to pay my bills, my landlady hated my guts and I always opened my front door to my apartment with my eyes half-closed in case there was some awful demand waiting for me (and there usually was).

That all changed in 2002 when the peso-dollar peg was finally abandoned. I found myself suddenly loaded. As a freelance journalist who collects his cheques in pounds, it meant my salary increased fivefold overnight. I could suddenly go out whenever I wanted. I could pay my rent on time and even (and I can hardly believe it myself) put a deposit down on a swanky brand-new apartment in Belgrano R. Home to politicians and embassies - and now me.

But sometimes I can't help wishing for the old days. The thing is, nobody used to come here. It was so expensive compared to its neighbours that travellers avoided Buenos Aires like the plague.

Yet I didn't know quite how much things had changed until the Easter holiday, when I thought I'd hit the sights for four days. When I saw how many people were in Recoleta cemetery, I immediately stopped in my tracks and stropped off in a tantrum. The museums were just as bad and, as for the tango show, every seat had been booked in advance. The next day there were coachloads of tourists in La Boca and San Telmo, and tanned backpackers apparently everywhere.

Determined to escape, I went to an obscure restaurant which I was sure had yet to be discovered. But half the tables had been taken over by a group from a hotel - one man had a calculator and was gleefully going through all the items on the menu, converting them into US dollars in wide-eyed joy. I bolted down my steak, downed a bottle of wine in about five seconds flat and got the hell out of there.

On the way to the subway, I was spotted by at least three salesmen, who tried to drag me in to have a look at their "leather factory", while another five touts tried to get me to exchange dollars. When every block or so someone starts yelling at you in English, you're noticed. Until then I'd never got pegged as a tourist. Ever.

I know it doesn't sound like it, but in a way I'm pleased that the travellers are here: they bring in hard currency, and of course they have got just as much right to know this great city as I have. But it's like they've suddenly appeared from nowhere and are now taking over. Sometimes I find myself thinking, well, I was here before you lot ...